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It
VoL. I. BLOOMINGTON, ILLINOIS, JANUARY, 1883, No. 4.
THE MARSELLAISE HYMN.
[Translated from the French.]
BY BYRON F. STAYMATE, A. M., CLASS OF '76.
Arise, ye sons of Fatherland;
The hour of your glory' s here;
Against you in the tyrant's hand
His crimson standards now appear,
The savage soldiers jeering roar.
Ah! heard ye in campaigns astir?
They rush so far as in your arms
To whelm your sons and friends with gore.
To arms! oh men! and form battalions,
And march till blood impure in streamlets runs!
CHORUS.
To arms! oh men! we form battalions,
We march till blood impure in streamlets runs!
What want the servile horde and trains
Of traitors and of kings conspired ?
For whom are these ignoble chains,
These fetters, oh! so long prepared?
Ah France! alone for thee what outrage?
What transports, oh! it does excite!
For 'tis 'gainst you they make the threat,
To render back to ancient bondage!
CHORUS :
Oh, what! Do cohorts that are strange
Forge laws on this, our home and hearth?
Do hired legions through us range,
And trample down our troops of worth! '
Great God ! By servile hands enchained
We bow our fronts to such a yoke!
Of despots vile who have become
The hated lords of us destined ?
CHORUS :
But tremble, traitors! and ye despots!
The scorned of your despised allies;
Oh tremble! paracides and plots
You'll get at length for pay their prize,
It is for every soldier to strike you.
If these should fall our heroes young
Will come, and her from you defend
With France's product of the new.
CHORUS:
Oh France! against the great in heart
The true bear or retain your blows,
But spare those victims sadder part
Who with regret are armed as foes,
But bloody lords o'er us oppressed.
But those vile helpers of the Broil,
Your tigers most devoid of mercy,
Who rend and tear their mother's breast!
CHORUS :
Blessed land! Oh sacred love for thee,
With help guide our avenging arms,
Liberty! Liberty! Liberty!
Combat beside these brave defenders
Beneath our flag which hastens victory
So quickly to these manly shouts
Let our expiring foes behold
Thy triumph and our glory!
CHORUS:
LIFE WITHOUT SHADOWS---A BLANK.
MISS MARIE COWEN.
Were life one long continued pleasure, were it all light and
no shadows its very monotony would become wearisome.
'Tpivsa riety that pleases; 'tis the mingling not of "like with
like but like with difference," that gives beauty; 'tis the ever va-rying
that gives to earth and sky its wonderful attraction. All
nature is ever changing, ever new. She appears like a grand
theater, in which the scenes change often. And how similar to
her is the life of man.
Life-the very word suggests something fleeting and chang-ing.
How wonderful! Life-ever growing old, yet ever young;
ever dying and yet living. From whence it came and whither
it goeth we know not. Its problems we cannot solve, and yet
they are ever befoie us.
The life of man "is checkered shade and sunshine."
Each life has its shadows; as Longfellow says,-" Into each
life some rain must fall, some days must be dark and dreary,"
whether it be those whose feet still linger in the soft, green
meadows and flowery paths of the early spring, or those whose
weary feet rest on the further banks of time, upon whom are fall-ing
the last lingering rays of a slowly setting sun and upon
whose heads have lightly fallen the snows of many years. No
life but has at some time been touched and overshadowed by
clouds. Every heart has its secret sorrows which the world
knows not-but the face, the great tell-tale of joy and sorrow,
reveals this too often to be denied.
Sometimes life is all sunshine and gladness, heaven seems
not far off. This gladness pervades all things. Never did
nature appear so beautiful and so charming. Loving friends
fail us not, kind fortune smiles, and life seems " to float on like
a fairy bark down a streamlet fringed with flowers." Each hour
seems but to add some unexpected pleasure.
We live our life with that interest with which we read for
the first time a most interesting chapter. And how we vainly
wish it would never end. But the chapter is finished, the book
closed, and so is ended, never to be read again, a beautiful chap-ter
in the Book of Human Life.
One of life's transient dreams of happiness is ended, and
the dreamer awakes to know how sweet it is to dream, but oh,
how sad the waking, The scene is wholly changed. Clouds in-stead
of sunshine, sorrow takes the place of gladness. Nature
seems to sit in cold indifference. The whole life is clouded, old
associations and long remembered joys seem to rise up in bitter
mockery from out the dead past. Hope itself seems dead, though
hope dies hard. We long to re-read the finished chapter and
dream those dreams again.
There arises in the mind the question: Why, when the
heart ever longs for happiness and shrinks from grief, when it
rejoices in sunshine, why is not life given to us one long, un-broken
light? There comes the answer to the question. Shad-

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Full Text

It
VoL. I. BLOOMINGTON, ILLINOIS, JANUARY, 1883, No. 4.
THE MARSELLAISE HYMN.
[Translated from the French.]
BY BYRON F. STAYMATE, A. M., CLASS OF '76.
Arise, ye sons of Fatherland;
The hour of your glory' s here;
Against you in the tyrant's hand
His crimson standards now appear,
The savage soldiers jeering roar.
Ah! heard ye in campaigns astir?
They rush so far as in your arms
To whelm your sons and friends with gore.
To arms! oh men! and form battalions,
And march till blood impure in streamlets runs!
CHORUS.
To arms! oh men! we form battalions,
We march till blood impure in streamlets runs!
What want the servile horde and trains
Of traitors and of kings conspired ?
For whom are these ignoble chains,
These fetters, oh! so long prepared?
Ah France! alone for thee what outrage?
What transports, oh! it does excite!
For 'tis 'gainst you they make the threat,
To render back to ancient bondage!
CHORUS :
Oh, what! Do cohorts that are strange
Forge laws on this, our home and hearth?
Do hired legions through us range,
And trample down our troops of worth! '
Great God ! By servile hands enchained
We bow our fronts to such a yoke!
Of despots vile who have become
The hated lords of us destined ?
CHORUS :
But tremble, traitors! and ye despots!
The scorned of your despised allies;
Oh tremble! paracides and plots
You'll get at length for pay their prize,
It is for every soldier to strike you.
If these should fall our heroes young
Will come, and her from you defend
With France's product of the new.
CHORUS:
Oh France! against the great in heart
The true bear or retain your blows,
But spare those victims sadder part
Who with regret are armed as foes,
But bloody lords o'er us oppressed.
But those vile helpers of the Broil,
Your tigers most devoid of mercy,
Who rend and tear their mother's breast!
CHORUS :
Blessed land! Oh sacred love for thee,
With help guide our avenging arms,
Liberty! Liberty! Liberty!
Combat beside these brave defenders
Beneath our flag which hastens victory
So quickly to these manly shouts
Let our expiring foes behold
Thy triumph and our glory!
CHORUS:
LIFE WITHOUT SHADOWS---A BLANK.
MISS MARIE COWEN.
Were life one long continued pleasure, were it all light and
no shadows its very monotony would become wearisome.
'Tpivsa riety that pleases; 'tis the mingling not of "like with
like but like with difference," that gives beauty; 'tis the ever va-rying
that gives to earth and sky its wonderful attraction. All
nature is ever changing, ever new. She appears like a grand
theater, in which the scenes change often. And how similar to
her is the life of man.
Life-the very word suggests something fleeting and chang-ing.
How wonderful! Life-ever growing old, yet ever young;
ever dying and yet living. From whence it came and whither
it goeth we know not. Its problems we cannot solve, and yet
they are ever befoie us.
The life of man "is checkered shade and sunshine."
Each life has its shadows; as Longfellow says,-" Into each
life some rain must fall, some days must be dark and dreary,"
whether it be those whose feet still linger in the soft, green
meadows and flowery paths of the early spring, or those whose
weary feet rest on the further banks of time, upon whom are fall-ing
the last lingering rays of a slowly setting sun and upon
whose heads have lightly fallen the snows of many years. No
life but has at some time been touched and overshadowed by
clouds. Every heart has its secret sorrows which the world
knows not-but the face, the great tell-tale of joy and sorrow,
reveals this too often to be denied.
Sometimes life is all sunshine and gladness, heaven seems
not far off. This gladness pervades all things. Never did
nature appear so beautiful and so charming. Loving friends
fail us not, kind fortune smiles, and life seems " to float on like
a fairy bark down a streamlet fringed with flowers." Each hour
seems but to add some unexpected pleasure.
We live our life with that interest with which we read for
the first time a most interesting chapter. And how we vainly
wish it would never end. But the chapter is finished, the book
closed, and so is ended, never to be read again, a beautiful chap-ter
in the Book of Human Life.
One of life's transient dreams of happiness is ended, and
the dreamer awakes to know how sweet it is to dream, but oh,
how sad the waking, The scene is wholly changed. Clouds in-stead
of sunshine, sorrow takes the place of gladness. Nature
seems to sit in cold indifference. The whole life is clouded, old
associations and long remembered joys seem to rise up in bitter
mockery from out the dead past. Hope itself seems dead, though
hope dies hard. We long to re-read the finished chapter and
dream those dreams again.
There arises in the mind the question: Why, when the
heart ever longs for happiness and shrinks from grief, when it
rejoices in sunshine, why is not life given to us one long, un-broken
light? There comes the answer to the question. Shad-